Chapter 10
Damian
"Yesterday, you were out for her blood and now you've hired her?" I asked my mother after I saw my wife leaving her office with the biggest smile on her face.
Mom gave me a stack of papers. "I learned two things after meeting her. As an artist, she has skill. She's too na?ve, too simple and too fucking plain to be your wife."
It was remarkable how everyone in my family saw being na?ve as a flaw and not as a quality that made Emilia optimistic, positive in the face of adversity. Strong. Because the weak couldn't smile through the bullshit she put up with.
"There's nothing wrong with being plain," I retorted.
"Nothing wrong at all," my mother agreed. "Just doesn't work for an Archer."
I didn't want to argue the point. I didn't know how to. I agreed with my mother. Emilia did not have ambition—the driving force that made us successful. Duncan was ruthless when it came to managing his side of the business—even though technically, he reported to me, the CEO, he did his own thing. Even Dean, who wasn't interested in the business end of things was ambitious as fuck when it came to antiquities, going out of his way to hunt and acquire the impossible. Our high-end clients loved him because he would move mountains to get his hands on something for them.
Bianca fit. She and her mother were running a business. Bianca had an MBA from Stanford. Gideon was one of the best CFOs I'd ever met.
Emilia was soft, kind…easily bruised. How would she handle my dominating and aggressive family? Not well. She crumbled so easily. Cried at the drop of a hat. She was too thin-skinned to survive being my wife.
"She signed everything. But deleted all references to money. Looks like you were right, she doesn't give a shit about our money," Mom continued.
"I know," I agreed.
Mom leaned back in her office chair. "I don't get this girl. Her family paints a picture of her that is…very different than what I witnessed. Now, she may have been putting it on while I was there. Her family would know her best, wouldn't they?"
I had wondered the same thing, but the kind of authenticity Emilia exuded couldn't be manufactured. If she was pretending, she needed to go to Hollywood, cause that was some Oscar-worthy shit.
"I'm going to make sure she understands her situation."
"Mom, stay the fuck away from Em," I warned.
Mom waved a hand in dismissal. "Question for you. Why does she think she manipulated you into getting married?"
I shrug. "She thinks I was drunker than her and it was her somehow responsibility to stop us from signing on the dotted line."
"Why did you marry her, Damian?"
I didn't want to lie to my mother; but I didn't want to reveal things about Bianca that she didn't need to know. She thought of her as a daughter. No good would come out of maligning her name—and that would lead to tension between the Winters and the Archers.
"I told you already, Mom, we're attracted to each other, and it was an impulse in Vegas."
"So, you understand that this marriage needs to end?"
I didn't know how to answer that—not anymore. It had all seemed so clear in the beginning and now it was murky as hell.
"Will you and Bianca get back together once this marriage is dissolved."
"I don't think so."
"Why not? She loves you. I know you love her. She's very different from Emilia…she's Archer daughter-in-law material."
Except she lets Stanton stick his dick inside her.
"Why do you say that?"
"Emilia is a mouse. Bianca is a lioness."
I wasn't sure about that, but I also didn't want to argue the point. I barely knew Emilia—sure she was my wife, but she was still a mystery to me.
"So, what are your next steps?" Mom picked up a pen and played with it. "I'm moving her in with me. The minute the media finds out where she lives there will be hell to pay."
"I don't think you should do that."
"Not your call to make, Mom."
"She needs a studio," Mom snapped.
“I'll convert one of the spare guestrooms into a studio."
Mom waved a hand at that. "That's not enough space. Let's let her use the artist's studio here."
I raised both my eyebrows. The studio space at Archer Galleries was coveted and only our most seasoned artists were allowed to be part of that exclusive club.
"You sure about that?"
"Have you seen her work?"
I was ashamed to say that I hadn't. I shook my head.
"You should. It's…she's…impressive."
"The other artists are not going to appreciate her just taking a space without her paying her dues as they had to," I pointed out.
"If she can't handle a bunch of artists, how on earth is she going to handle being your wife? Maybe this way she'll get that message loud and clear."
If I was a better man, I'd tell my mother that I manipulated Emilia into marrying me for the most ulterior of motives. Since I was a piece of shit, I simply said, "I'm going to take her out for lunch. We need to talk about rings."
"I thought you gave her the one you got for the woman you were in love with a minute ago. For your information, Bianca found it very humiliating and heartbreaking."
Sadly, Mom was all Team Bianca.
"Em told Duncan it wasn't her style and as you pointed out it was insensitive of me to give her another woman's ring."
"I don't think you should give her a new ring. It might give her the wrong idea. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that you should pursue an annulment and end this now. We'll manage the PR."
I knew Mom was trying to be practical about the whole thing but why the hell did we need so many killers in one family?
"The PR nightmare is not worth it. Later on, we can say it didn't work out."
Mom nodded. "And when you marry Bianca, we can manage the media fallout."
"Mom, I need you to get used to the idea that I will never marry Bianca."
My mother rolled her eyes. "You both keep breaking up and making up. You can't stay away from each other. But…I'll let that be for now. Oh, and are you making a statement about this clusterfuck?"
"Yeah. I was going to yesterday, but things went a little nuts. Devi put something together that I need to look through and approve."
"You have a damn fine EA, Damian."
I did. But I also knew that Devi was having trouble with my marrying Emilia. She was friends with Bianca.
"Damian, I also highly recommend not going out in public with Emilia," Mom warned me.
I arched an eyebrow in query.
"She's not suited for you, darling."
"What does that mean?"
"She just isn't, Damian. Look at how she dresses, how she behaves. She lacks sophistication."
"I'll clean her up," I assured her and felt a little sick saying that. Who the hell was I to change this woman who seemed pretty content with who she was?
"Think hard about it. The less you both are seen in public, the sooner this will die down and the faster you can get past your Vegas mistake."
Conflicted—that word summarized how I felt about Emilia. She was different to any woman I had ever dated, not just Bianca. Em was passionate about art and completely not about how she looked or what she wore. She didn't give a shit about my money or that I was an Archer. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.
I didn’t think she was a mistake. She was just not the kind of woman I ever thought I'd be with. How was it that she and Bianca had been raised in the same house and were so different?
"I'm going to get paint on the rings," she told me when I took her out to lunch at the Fog Harbor Fish House on Pier 39 and asked her what kind of ring she wanted since she didn't want the ones I gave her. "I don't need or want one."
There had been a few people who had snapped pictures once we got here, and I knew by the time we stepped out of the restaurant there would be a couple of paps trying to get a photo of Damian and Emilia Archer. They'd notice she wasn't wearing an engagement ring and wedding band.
The gossip rags had been vicious—not about me but Emilia, like it was entirely her fault that she was married to me. Like she was some jezebel.
I didn't care what anyone said about me or anyone around me. But then I was used to it. I had thick skin, as did Bianca. But Emilia was not part of this world. She'd been thrust into it because I let my temper make me reckless and turn me into an imbecile.
But as I sat here, watching her eat her crab cakes, I wasn't sure if I regretted it entirely. I was attracted to my wife. Even now when she had her hair in a bun with a slender paint brush holding it up.
She was in denim overalls and had thrown a beige button down over it. She wore sneakers that were God knows what color once upon a time, right now they were splattered with paint. Her nails were not manicured, I'd noticed that in Vegas. Now there were specs of paint on her forearms even though her hands were clean.
She had no makeup on. Maybe some colored Chapstick because her lips were pink. Her dark eyes didn't need enhancement.
How had I never noticed her? Sure, she was tiny, but her face had an arresting quality about it—a faraway look as if she wasn't here and was thinking of something else.
"People will notice if you don't have a ring," I stated.
She took a sip of the Sauvignon Blanc I ordered. She had resisted, saying she was going back to work and didn't want to be drunk. I countered that one glass of white wouldn't make her drunk—but I did hope it would make her pliable. My wife was an easy mark when it came to alcohol.
"Argh. I hate people."
I smiled. "Don't like your face plastered all over page six?"
"Is it? God!"
"They still only have a photo of yours from university. But they'll probably catch one today."
Emilia looked around the restaurant. "We should've eaten at Archer Galleries."
"You can't keep hiding."
"Sure, I can. Watch me. I have a shit ton of experience doing it."
"Now, about the ring—"
"Can we just wear the damn wedding bands? I can't do gemstones and shit. They're a huge bother when I have to wash paint off my hands."
I thought about it for a long moment. I was still wearing the rose gold wedding band even though she'd left hers with Duncan. I wanted her to wear my ring. I had no idea why, but I wanted to make sure that the world knew she was mine. Mine for six months or so, right?
"I'll figure something out," I assured her.
She smiled and my heart stuttered. Emilia smiled plenty—she was genuinely a happy person; but when she looked at me with her eyes bright it made me feel good, worthy. Which was bullshit! Women had looked at me like that all my adult life, and I'd never questioned my worth. But this little mouse of a woman, with a paintbrush holding her hair together, was making me self-conscious.
"Next topic," I began and saw her roll her eyes, "Stop that or we will have to discuss safe words."
Her eyes piqued with interest. "Like…for…?"
I was joking but I could see she was curious. "BDSM isn't my kink," I assured her.
"Have you tried it?" Her voice was hushed but full of curiosity.
I'd pretty much tried everything. I knew what I liked and what I didn’t. A week ago, I would've said virgins weren't my thing and look how wrong I was.
"You don’t have to tell me about your sex life." She waved a hand. "Go on, you had something on your mind."
Yeah, I do. You spread over this table so I can eat your pussy and watch you come.
She was a squirter and it had been fucking erotic to watch her fall apart.
"I'm going to send movers to your place—"
"No," she whined.
"You have security there?"
"No," she mumbled, making a face.
"Okay, so you have to move in with me."
"Fine, but I will move my own stuff."
I relented.
"What about my studio?"
"I'm setting that up for you at Archer Galleries."
Her eyes went wide. "Really?"
The studios in the gallery were a dream come true. They had the right amount of natural light and at night and when it was dark, the lighting was perfect to not throw a glare on the canvas. Some of the artists we hired to restore paintings and make legal copies used the space. It was also an exclusive club of artists and space in the studio was coveted.
"You will share with others," I warned her.
"Wow…yeah." Her eyes were wide with excitement. "Really?"
I smiled. Didn’t she realize as an Archer she had access to things she couldn't have dreamed of before?
"So, you'll move in with me?"
"Yeah."
When was the last time Bianca had been this excited when I offered her something? The answer was, never. She'd never been this giddy with joy as Emilia was to get space to paint that wasn't even exclusive to her.
"Do you want me to convert one of the rooms in my apartment into a studio?"
"No. I’d worry about making a mess and…," she shook her head, "you don't want to deal with that."
"Okay."
Archer Galleries was only a ten-minute walk from the Four Seasons, so she could easily get to the studio whenever she wanted.
"Anything else?" she asked, looking at her watch. "It's my first day and I already have taken a long lunch break."
"That's okay, your boss signed off on it."
She arched an eyebrow. "Who's my boss?"
"I am."